


On Our Way Home

by cowboykylo69



Category: Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: Anxiety, Claustrophobia, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Possessive Behavior, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28116741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykylo69/pseuds/cowboykylo69
Summary: On a late Friday night, you take the subway home with Charlie after spending the day with him at his rehearsals.
Relationships: Charlie Barber/Reader, Charlie Barber/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	On Our Way Home

The subway is crowded on your way home. It’s stuffy and humid despite the snow that falls back up top, back up on the streets of New York, painting the town white for the holidays. **  
**

You stayed late at the theatre tonight, as most Friday nights go for Charlie. Sometimes you’ll meet him there halfway through the day, bringing coffee and pick-me-ups, sometimes you leave with him first thing in the morning and spend the day with him, lending a helping hand. Other times you’ll pick Henry up from school and you’ll go down to the theatre together, to surprise Charlie. He likes when you do that.

But tonight it was just you and him, the last ones to leave the theatre, running through some scenes that Charlie couldn’t seem to get through during the day, looking over lines, doing a few rewrites. The standard stuff.

Charlie was stressed, as he usually is. Kept running his hand through his already unruly hair, sighing deep and heavy breaths, itching for a smoke. You pushed him through those moments. Helped him work through the lines and the scenes so you could get out of here faster, be home sooner.

Nearing midnight as you lock up the theatre space, the roads outside are lined with lights, the city as lively as ever but an air of peace has been washed over it. The snow seems to slow everything down, giving the illusion of tranquility.

Charlie’s got his arm slung over the back of your shoulders, holding you close together, sharing some of his body heat with you as you walk towards the subway station. 

A cigarette hangs lazily in between his plush lips, people look at you two as you pass them by. He always captured people’s gazes, whether it was his enormous stature or his angled features, it was something you admired so much about him, how effortlessly beautiful he was at all moments. 

New York never got too cold in the winter, especially not before the holidays so the two of you weren’t bundled up to the tip of your heads yet. Charlie wore his long black wool trench coat and you wore something similar. You secretly loved when you two matched in some sort of way, no matter how small the detail. You think he does too.

But now in the subway you were itching to take the coat off. The excess heat from all the bodies was overwhelming to say the least, your throat felt tight and you were taking in breaths that were much too short, you were beginning to feel light headed. It wasn’t uncommon for this to happen, you usually felt like this to some capacity in crowded rooms and spaces.

Your hand tightens its grip around the metal pole, knuckles turning white as you try to ground yourself. You feel Charlie’s hand engulf your own, interlocking his fingers through yours so you both hold onto the pole together. He takes a step towards you and your chests bump. You laugh a little and look up at him. His brow is creased right down the middle like they so often are. _Too often_ , you think. His lips are pulled tight, nearing a frown. You step closer to him, trying to invade your senses with him.

That always calms you down. Charlie always calms you down. His hand squeezes yours.

“You okay?” He asks, voice so low that you swear no one else heard it. Not that anyone was listening anyways.

You look up at him and nod your head, bottom lip being worried between your teeth. A telltale sign that you’re nervous or anxious or both, Charlie knows this much.

His hand squeezes yours again in reassurance.

Charlie keeps a watchful eye, as if trying to ward people off from standing so close to you with his intimidating stare. It was easy for him, standing tall and at least a head’s worth in length above everyone else. 

There must be so much breathing room up there, while you were stuck in the stuffy air everyone else shares. You try to bury your face into his warm chest to block everything out, trying to focus on the rhythmic and soothing beat of his heart. It was hard to hear over the bustling of the subway carts and the random chatter of a late Friday night, a futile effort. You’d be home soon anyways.

His warm hand still wrapped around yours, you tried to focus on the feel of his body against yours, skin on skin, his smell, his cologne, smokey and warm, the way his body shifts with each shake of the cart. _Charlie, Charlie, Charlie._

Deep breaths.

“Oop! Sorry ‘bout that.” A stranger yelped as he bumped into you on his way out of the cart, a man about your height.

It was unusual for people in such an overpopulated city to apologize to another stranger, especially for something as insignificant and common as a slight shoulder bump. So you turn to him and give him a small smile and wave of your hand, as if saying ‘ _no harm done_ ’. He smiles back and exits the cart.

Charlie’s free hand slips out of his pocket and weaves itself around your waist, pulling you back into his body. You huff as you land back against his solid frame. Looking up at him through your lashes, an unavoidable girlish smirk pulling on your lips. You wrap your own arms around his waist, hugging yourself closer to him and he looks down at you with a frustrated and unhappy frown. _Possessive_.

The voice through the speaker announces that your stop is next after this one. People rush out the stalled doors.

“What do you want for supper?” You ask through your smile. Charlie grumbles, quickly flicking his wrist and checking his watch. He sighs exaggeratedly, obviously still stressed from rehearsals, unhappy with how late it’s gotten.

“Why don’t we just order something?” He offers. That was probably for the best, at this hour neither of you wanted to deal with a mess in the kitchen.

“Chinese?” That gets him to smile a little. He always loved some good Chinese takeout.

“Sure.”

People filter in and out of the subway cart, but you couldn’t care less.


End file.
